


Accord

by Lanning



Series: Identical Series [7]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-16
Updated: 2003-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanning/pseuds/Lanning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seventh part of the Identical Series. Secrets are revealed, understandings are reached, and Karloff makes a move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accord

A hand brushed his cheek. "Lex."

 

It was no more than a breath, a little sigh, and Lex smiled.  If anyone had told him yesterday morning that he'd be indulging in an afterschool special with Clark Kent this afternoon, he'd have politely offered them his souvenir straightjacket.  Clark shouldn't be there, of course; he should be home with his parents, and Lex knew it.  He should be doing his chores, his homework, and taking his rightful place in the Rockwellian tableau that was life on the Kent farm.  The fact that Clark had stayed at home no longer than it took to drop a note on his mother's dining room table, and then had run all the way here to rip up more of Lex's sheets was an undeniable turn-on, but one that had made Lex start to think things through, and he preferred his sheets ripped without any accompanying anxiety.  Not bothering to open his eyes, Lex slid his hand across the mangled sheets, but Clark's side of the bed was empty.  "Clark?"

 

"Mmmm." 

 

He sounded close, but Lex's groping hand couldn't make contact.  Lex opened his eyes and caught his breath, freezing.  "Jesus."

 

Clark was floating a few inches above him in the late afternoon sunlight, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, with a peaceful expression that thoroughly belied his outrageous drop-kicking of Newton's universal law of gravitation.  He was obviously sound asleep, but one arm dangled beneath him as his hand caressed Lex's face.

 

Lex carefully considered the impossibility bobbing before him with narrowed eyes.  Well.  This was new.  Typical of Clark not to let twenty-four hours of love affair go by without fucking with Lex's mind.  Lex let out the breath he'd been holding with a snort and lifted his hand to stroke Clark's hair.  "Clark," he said softly, not wanting to wake him too suddenly.  "Wake up."

 

Clark's fingers touched Lex's lips.  "Love you," he murmured.

 

Lex felt an absurd tightening in his throat. God, he was beautiful. Beautiful in every way imaginable. Lex wondered what Clark would do if he told him that. Blush? Definitely. Laugh? Probably, and then tell Lex that guys weren't beautiful; they were handsome. And then Lex would tell him in no uncertain terms that handsome was an insipid descriptor for a being as exquisite as Clark Kent.

 

No.  No, he wouldn't say that.  But he'd want to.  Lex blinked, realizing in alarm that Clark was floating upward and away from him.  He hastily put both arms around Clark's neck and tried to draw him back down. "Clark," he said, urgent and soft.  "It's time to wake up."

 

Clark bent his head and pressed his warm, wet mouth to Lex's throat, sliding both arms around Lex's waist.  Lex felt his upper body lifting from the bed and closed his eyes again, breathing hard.  So…defiance of the laws of physics was a turn-on.  Who knew?

 

"Clark," Lex rasped.  He felt his heels leave the bed, the covers slipping down his legs as he and Clark floated upward.  The kink potential in this was limitless, but the Kents were expecting them for dinner in less than an hour, and the ceiling was becoming an issue.  He tightened his grip around Clark's neck.  _"Clark!"_

Clark gasped and pulled back, staring into Lex's face with wide, startled eyes for the split second before they both plummeted back onto the bed.  The impact of Clark's body against his own left Lex delightfully breathless.

 

Clark made an odd, choked sound.  "God.  I'm sorry.  Are you all right?"  He leaned away from Lex so suddenly that Lex instinctively held on to him, startled.  Jesus, Clark looked like he'd just axe-murdered a kitten.

 

"Never better."  Lex pulled him down and kissed him gently.  "Going somewhere?"

 

Clark closed his eyes and buried his face against Lex's neck.  He didn't say anything for a minute, and Lex waited.  "I thought it had gone away," Clark said finally.  His voice was rough.

 

"This has happened before?"

 

"Once.  I'm sorry."

 

"What the hell for?  That was a major turn-on."

 

"Lex."

 

"We just need to work on that landing."

 

Clark didn't answer, and Lex slid one hand up to caress Clark's hair.

 

"I don't know what I'm turning into," Clark whispered.

 

Lex closed his eyes and let his other hand move soothingly across Clark's back.  "You're turning into Clark Kent."

 

"I don't know what that means."

 

"The term is indefinable, but evidence suggests that it means you'll be bumping into my ceiling every so often.  Breathe."

 

Clark drew a shaky breath.  "I just…keep getting stronger all the time.  And weirder."

 

"Clark."

 

"What if it just keeps going and going and—"

 

"You're overreacting."

 

"—I turn into some kind of…thing…"

 

"You're not a _thing_," Lex snapped.  He gentled his voice.  "You'll never be a thing."

 

"I might hurt people, Lex."

 

Lex sighed in exasperation.  Jonathan Kent had done his son no favors in making him this paranoid.  "I'll alert the Joint Chiefs."

 

"A lot of people."

 

"You're thinking about Cassandra again."

 

"Wouldn't you be?"

 

"Hell, no." Lex silently cursed that old woman and her visions in six different languages.  "I'd be learning how to land."

 

"Those graves—"

 

"Mean nothing.  Nothing, Clark.  They're not real."

 

"We don't know that.  It was everybody I love, Lex.  What if…what if I'm the one that—"

 

Lex took Clark's face in his hands.  "Repeat after me.  'I am Clark Kent, boy scout.'"

 

Clark stared down at him.  "Dad says that power does things to people."

 

"'I am a refugee from a Norman Rockwell print.'"

 

Clark sighed in obvious annoyance.  "Lex."

 

"'I read Dr. Seuss.'"

 

"So do you, mastermind."

 

"'I use my mother's Herbal Essence shampoo.'"

 

Clark's mouth twitched.  "I was out of mine."

 

"'My most twisted vice is drinking from the milk bottle.'"

 

"Ha ha."

 

"'And I am not a threat to life as we know it.'"

 

Clark sighed.  "Promise me something."

 

"Flying lessons?"

 

"Don't let me start crossing lines."

 

Lex studied him for a moment, comprehension dawning, then pulled Clark down and kissed him.

 

***

 

"You didn't ask?"

 

Jonathan grimaced at the incredulity in Martha's tone.  He'd known last night that he'd catch hell over not prying any and all pertinent information out of Lex immediately.  Of course, he hadn't been counting on Clark dodging them for the past twenty-four hours, either.  Well, he wouldn't suffer alone.  Someone else would be catching hell tonight.  "I didn't ask," he said firmly, raising his newspaper in a vain attempt to shield himself from the impending barrage.

 

"Lex said things just got _worse,_ and you didn't ask?"

 

Jonathan grimaced.  "I didn't want to get into it with Lionel Luthor's science project parking its bony ass on our front porch swing.  Or with the Sullivans within earshot."

 

"You could have called Lex back after they left.  You could have told me what was going on, Jonathan."

 

"I thought Clark would be home in a couple hours!"

 

"He never came home at all last night."

 

"I know."

 

"He didn't come home after school today, either."

 

"He left a note."  Jonathan winced at the silence that followed his lame response. 

 

Martha's voice sliced through that silence like a chainsaw.  "A note doesn't cut it, mister." 

 

Oh, he was in for it now.  "I'm just saying—"

 

"He was out all night.  He's sixteen years old."

 

"Sixteen and fifty-one weeks," Jonathan heard himself saying, and groaned inwardly.  Now Clark had _him _doing it.

 

Martha evidently chose to ignore the correction. "Something is going on."

 

"Something's always going on," Jonathan grumbled, squirming in his chair to keep his newspaper between himself and his wife's glare.  "We live on the goddamn Sci-Fi channel, Martha."

 

"More is going on than usual, and doesn't it strike you in the least bit odd that our son hasn't told us what it is?  That he's _avoiding _us?"

 

"He isn't avoiding us.  He'll be here any minute."

 

Martha sighed. "I would really appreciate a little less zen master and a little more concerned father, Jonathan."

 

"Lex was freaked out last night.  Clark is probably...doing whatever he does to, um, unfreak him."  Jonathan cleared his throat and minutely examined the print of his paper.

 

Silence.  "Jonathan Kent, so help me, if you don't put that paper down, I will make you eat it."

 

Jonathan sighed, acknowledging defeat, and tossed his paper to the kitchen table.  "Martha, calm down.  Clark and Lex will be here soon, and they'll tell us what's going on."

 

Martha raised her eyebrows.  "_Everything_ that's going on?"

 

"Martha—"

 

"Including the...unfreaking?"

 

"What about the unfreaking?" Jonathan demanded, unnerved. 

 

Martha leaned forward with a determined expression.  "Exactly what does unfreaking entail, Jonathan?"

 

Jonathan shifted uncomfortably.  "How the hell should I know?  Am I an expert in abnormal psychology?"

 

"Is Clark an expert?"

 

"He must be," Jonathan growled.  "He's friends with Lex Luthor, isn't he?"

 

Martha pressed her lips together and drummed her fingers on the table, and Jonathan longed for the shelter of his newspaper.  "There's something you aren't telling me."

 

"Martha, you know as much as I do."

 

"And it's a big something.  If I find out—"

 

"You're getting all worked up for nothing."

 

"—that you know something concerning the well-being of our son and you haven't told me—"

 

"There's no something!"

 

"—there will be consequences."  Martha leveled her gaze.

 

Christ.  Not the couch.

 

"And don't think I'm bluffing."  Martha rose with the dignity befitting an avenging goddess and left the table to mutter over her spaghetti sauce.  Jonathan hastily hid behind his paper again, trying to ward off a sense of gloom as he contemplated his impending celibacy.  It was obviously going to be another one of those nights.

 

***

 

"We're here."  Clark slowed to a normal walk, glancing down at the man in his arms.  Lex looked up at him with a dazed expression, and Clark froze, cradling him closer.  "Lex?"

 

Lex let loose a breath as if he'd been holding it.  "Glass Porsche, hell," he said faintly. "That was a goddamned interdimensional event horizon."  His arms were still tight around Clark's neck.  "What a rush."

 

"Are you okay?"  Clark stared into his face anxiously.  Lex looked like he might pass out or something.  Like he needed jet lag, after being dragged to the ceiling, dropped and tackled by some weird-ass horny alien. "I've never run with anybody before.  Anybody who's awake, I mean."

 

"I'm fine." Lex swung his legs out of Clark's embrace.  He stood unsteadily, leaning against Clark.  "Just give me a second."

 

"As long as you want," Clark murmured, bending hesitantly to kiss him.  Lex instantly returned the kiss, and Clark pulled Lex closer, reassured.  He could really do this now.  He could kiss Lex whenever he wanted to.  Touch him whenever he wanted to.  He slid his hands down to rest on Lex's hips.  Wherever he wanted to.  Just thinking about that made him as dizzy as Lex looked.  He felt Lex chuckling into the kiss and lifted his head, glaring.  "What?"

 

"You're insatiable."  Lex reached up to smooth Clark's hair, smiling.  "Don't start something we can't finish."

 

"Who says we can't finish it?"  Clark slid his hand over Lex's hip with as much defiance as he could muster.

 

Lex assumed a stern expression and removed Clark's hand from his ass.  "I do.  In case you haven't noticed, we're standing ten yards from your mother's kitchen windows."

 

"Oh."  Clark glanced hastily through the dark to the house, but there was no sign of anyone near the lighted windows.

 

"Focus, Clark."  Lex turned to walk toward the house with a slightly unsteady gait.  Clark took his arm.  "This is important.  We have bad news.  Your parents are going to be frightened."

 

Clark scowled and kicked an inoffensive stone out of his path.  He so didn't want to think about this now.  This, or bumping into the ceiling, or anything that had to do with weird alien stuff.  All he wanted to do was pick Lex up and take him back home, to bed, and keep right on finishing what they'd started.  Only in lots and lots of different ways.  He felt his ears go hot at the idea.  "You think?"

 

"I think," Lex said wryly, his eyes fixed on the house.

 

"Dad gets mad when he's scared, Lex."

 

Lex snorted.  "This revelation rocks my world."

 

"And he's probably already mad that I didn't come home."

 

"I don't doubt it.  You should have gone home last night." 

 

"I wanted to be with you," Clark said firmly.

 

"And you should have gone home after school today."

 

"I wanted to be with you then, too."

 

"You're sixteen, Clark."

 

"Sixteen and fifty-one weeks."

 

"My admiration for your precision notwithstanding, your parents are bound to worry if you disappear for days at a time."

 

"They knew where I was."

 

"I wouldn't count on getting much mileage out of that technicality, if I were you.  Did you see Pete and Chloe at school today?"

 

Clark blinked at the change of subject.  "Yeah."  The memory of his friends' closed faces made him flinch. "They would barely talk to me. I think they're pissed at me."

 

Lex snorted.  "I can't imagine why."

 

"Oh, come on."

 

"You've barely talked to them in months."

 

"Lex—"

 

"I don't imagine you've talked to your parents much, either."

 

"This is your 'Clark is going to have a normal life' obsession, isn't it?" Clark demanded in exasperation, finally getting it.

 

Lex assumed a shocked expression.  "Obsession?  Me?"

 

Clark sighed.  "You are such a spaz.  Look, I'll make things right with Pete and Chloe, okay?"

 

"How?"

 

"I'll apologize."

 

Lex raised an eyebrow.

 

Clark grimaced.  "Okay, I'll grovel."

 

"Always a sound strategy." 

 

"Like you'd know," Clark grumbled. 

 

Lex shot him an amused look.  "You don't think I can grovel?"

 

"You've never groveled in your life," Clark said, positive.

 

Lex paused, one foot on the stoop, his hand resting on the handle of the storm door. "There's always a first time."

 

"Nobody could _ever_ make you grovel."

 

"Don't be too sure."  Lex's expression made the blood rise to Clark's face. "I believe I could grovel, given sufficient motivation."  His voice dropped into a sultry register.  "I know I can beg."

 

Clark stifled a groan behind clenched teeth, and promptly succumbed to his impulse to haul Lex off the stoop and push him up against the house.  "I thought you said not to start anything," he rasped, pressing close.

 

Lex's expression went shockingly innocent.  "Did I start something?"

 

"You know you did."  Clark leaned in, his mouth hovering over Lex's. "You're making me crazy."

 

"I deny any and all responsibility for your undeniably unsound mind."  Lex shot a wary glance at the kitchen door, then leaned in to give Clark a soft kiss.  Clark groaned as Lex pulled away. "Focus, Clark."

 

"Oh, yeah, right," Clark growled, reluctantly releasing him.  "Because that's what I want to think about.  Karloff playing mad scientist.  Hijacked spaceship parts.  Bodyguards.  Freaked parents. "

 

Lex gave him a wry grin.  "That's the challenge du jour, partner."

 

Clark felt a big, stupid smile cover his face.  "Yeah.  Okay.  It's just—"  He glanced at the door in apprehension.  "This is not going to be fun."

 

"They have to know, Clark," Lex said soberly. "This is serious, and they have to know."

 

"Yeah, well...  They don't have to know _now. _We could handle this ourselves.  You know.  For a while."

 

Lex's eyebrows rose.  "As a little cricket once observed to me—"

 

"Shut up."

 

"'You can't fixthis all by yourself, without asking how other people feel about it.'"

 

"Asshole."

 

"'That's not how it works when you're close to people.'"

 

"See if I give _you _advice again."

 

"Mercy is scheduled to arrive tomorrow night.  If she's going to be effective, she'll need your parents' cooperation.  We can't hide this, Clark."

 

"They're going to go ballistic," Clark sighed.  "And when—"

 

Something rattled against glass, and Clark glanced up to see his father opening the storm door.  Geez, he _already _looked pissed.  "Are you two planning to come inside any time in the near future?"

 

"Good evening, Mr. Kent." Lex smiled pleasantly and waved Clark up the steps.  "After you."

 

Clark gave Lex his dirtiest look, then ducked his head as he climbed the steps, avoiding Jonathan's steady gaze as he passed.  This was going to be as far from fun as you could get.

 

***

 

Martha turned around just in time to calculate her son's trajectory, and managed to intercept him before he could escape into the living room.  "Well, hello, stranger." 

 

Clark immediately started to blush, setting off every maternal alarm in Martha's arsenal simultaneously.  "Hi, Mom."  He was mumbling, and x-raying the kitchen floor with his eyes.  "What's for dinner?"  Oh, yes, it was a _very_ big something, and Martha made a mental note to move Jonathan's pillow to the couch immediately after dinner.

 

"Is hi and dinner all I get?"  Martha hugged Clark to her, kissing him soundly on the cheek, then pulled back to get a good look at him.  He was wearing Lex's shirt.  Martha's eyes narrowed as several alarms she hadn't known she'd had went off at top volume.  "Where have you been, young man?"

 

Clark started shifting on his feet, his gaze everywhere but where it should be.  "Mom.  I've only been gone—"

 

"I don't want to hear 'only,' Clark Kent." Martha's gaze traveled from Clark's exasperated expression to Lex, who was hanging his jacket on one of the pegs by the door. 

 

He was wearing Clark's shirt.

 

Martha drew a steadying breath and looked again.  He _was_ wearing Clark's shirt.  And she was not going to lose it.  She was _not_.  She was an educated, enlightened, understanding woman who would never dream of overreacting in such a situation.  She remembered what it was like to be sixteen-and-fifty-one-weeks, and she had an innate understanding of young people.  She repudiated the draconian parenting model.  She embraced the mutual respect that characterized a parent-child relationship in which each learned from the other as they grew closer and their bond grew stronger. 

 

She would castrate Lex and lock Clark in his room until he was thirty.

 

Martha turned to stare at Jonathan, who promptly mumbled something about leaving the lights on in the barn, and beat a hasty retreat.  Fine.  He could run, but he couldn't hide.  The couch wasn't going anywhere, and it had his name on it.  "Clark, go outside and do your chores.  Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes."

 

Clark stared.  "Now?"  Martha fixed her gaze on him, and Clark flushed a brilliant red.  "Um...okay."  He cast a helpless look at Lex, who was regarding them both with a slightly rueful expression.  "Lex, you want to come help—"

 

"Lex is going to help me with dinner," Martha said in her firmest tone.

 

"I'd be happy to." Lex met her gaze squarely.

 

"Okay."  Clark backed toward the door.  "I won't be long."

 

"Take your time," Lex said dryly.

 

Clark fumbled with the storm door and nearly fell out onto the stoop on his rear end before recovering his balance and disappearing into the dark.  Lex watched him go, one corner of his mouth quirking upward, then turned to Martha.  "It's good to see you, Mrs. Kent."

 

"It's good to see you, too, Lex."  Martha frowned.  He was pale.  There were dark circles under his eyes.  And he was thinner than when he'd left.  A lot thinner.  Clark's shirt hung on him.  "You've lost weight," she heard herself saying, which was not what she'd meant to say at all.  "You haven't been eating."

 

Lex's smile deepened.  "The cuisine at my place is decidedly inferior to yours."

 

If he thought the Luthor charm was going to get him out of this one, he was sadly mistaken.  "Come in here right now and eat something."  That wasn't what she'd meant to say, either. "The rolls just came out of the oven."

 

Lex followed her to the stove.  "That sauce smells wonderful."

 

"I won't even ask how long it's been since you had a real meal." Martha scowled.  This conversation was not going the way it was supposed to.  She shoved a roll into his hand.  "Eat that."

 

Lex obediently bit into it, and Martha picked up her spoon and stirred the sauce mercilessly.  Lex was wearing Clark's shirt.  Clark was wearing Lex's shirt.  Clark had been gone all night and all day, and she had not just fallen off a turnip truck, thank you very much, and here she was _feeding _him.  She drew a quick breath.  "He's sixteen, Lex."

 

Lex swallowed his mouthful, coughing a little.  "Sixteen...and fifty-one weeks."

 

Martha whirled on him. "Lex Luthor—"

 

"Sorry."  Lex spread his hands in an apologetic gesture, his expression rueful.  "It's become an autonomic reflex."

 

Martha made a desperate attempt to keep a smile off her face, and failed.  "Fine.  He's seventeen."

 

Lex nodded.  "Yes."

 

"And not the kind of boy to take something like this casually."

 

Lex's jaw froze at an angry angle.  "There is nothing casual going on here, Mrs. Kent."

 

Martha very carefully removed the spoon from the sauce and laid it on the counter, reminding herself that she adored her husband.  She did. And while this fact had bought Jonathan Kent many get-out-of-jail-free cards over the years, she was beginning to realize that this was not a situation that called for clemency.  In fact, it called for a wake-up call of sufficient volume to produce many sleepless nights of solitary contemplation on the evils of leaving one's wife out of vitally important loops.  She edited her mental note, and decided to move Jonathan's pillow to the truck. "Nothing casual?"

 

Lex's anger faded into confusion.  "I'm sorry.  I assumed Mr. Kent had—"

 

"Mr. Kent has not." There.  All her suspicions confirmed and her instincts validated.  "Mr. Kent hasn't told me anything about this."

 

Lex blew out a gust of air. "Oh."

 

"And when we have finished having our very serious conversation, Mr. Kent and I will have one of our own.  Start talking, Lex."

 

Lex flushed.  "You already know what I'm going to say."

 

Martha folded her arms across her chest and lied. "I really don't."

 

Lex met her eyes.  "You know I love him."

 

Martha sighed, all resistance collapsing at that desperate sincerity.  "Lex."

 

"You've always known."

 

"I wasn't expecting this so soon, Lex."  She hadn't been.  She hadn't wanted to.  It was too soon.  Clark was a baby…_her_ baby, and it was too soon.

 

"Neither was I."  Lex picked up the spoon and began stirring the sauce.  "I wasn't expecting it at all.  Clark had other ideas."

 

Martha opened her mouth to tell this _man_ that her innocent little boy had never had _ideas_ in his life, and stopped, belatedly realizing that she was channeling her mother.  She'd seen the way Clark looked at Lex.  She'd seen it for months.  But somehow, somewhere along the way, she'd blinked, and missed the moment Clark had stopped being her innocent little boy.  She found herself desperate to have him back, to have just one more day as the mother of a little boy, and not a young man, to be just one day further away from losing him to a life apart from hers.  She thought longingly of her cooking sherry.

 

"I know I'm not what you would have chosen for Clark."  Lex's voice was strained and his gaze was fixed on the spaghetti sauce as if his life depended on it.  "I'm not what I would have chosen for him, either."

 

"No."  Martha got the word out with difficulty.  "Lex, that's not—"

 

"A nice girl.  A family.  Children.  He'd have beautiful children."  Lex's voice went thick.  "Clark would be a great father.  Who knows, maybe someday soon he'll come to his senses and choose the future he deserves."

 

Martha pushed away the cherished image of happy, loving grandchildren. "That's not what I meant, Lex."

 

"But for now, he's chosen me.  He chose me, Mrs. Kent.  He loves me.  I couldn't...I wasn't strong enough to send him away." 

 

Martha succumbed to impulse and laid a hand on Lex's pale cheek, turning him to face her.  "I don't want you to send him away.  You're good for Clark, Lex."

 

Lex's face went blank.  "Good for Clark?"

 

"He's not alone anymore."  Martha took a breath and forged ahead.  "No matter how hard his father and I try, we could never really understand what it's been like for him to live with his…difference.  I don't think there are too many people in this world who could, who'd be willing to take the risk of being close to him.  But you can.  You are.  You love him.  And there's nothing more I could want than that."

 

The spoon slipped into the sauce, and Lex curled his hand around Martha's and held it.  "There's so much you don't know yet.  Being with me could be dangerous for him."

 

"Just being Clark is dangerous for him.  It always has been.  You'll protect him," Martha said, knowing it was true.

 

"Yes," Lex said, so fierce for that moment that Martha actually saw Lionel in his face. "Always.  Whether he likes it or not."

 

Martha folded her other hand around Lex's.  "He's very young, Lex.  You both are."

 

"We're getting older," Lex said dryly.

 

"I want him to have as much of a normal life as he can.  It's important to me.  To him."

 

Lex nodded.  "Parents.  Friends.  School.  A career."

 

Martha realized belatedly that she was preaching to the choir, and silently thanked God for it.  "Yes."

 

"A normal life."

 

He was ten steps ahead of her, and Martha wanted to hug him. "As much as he can.  He needs that."

 

Lex smiled faintly.  "Perhaps between the two of us, we can convince him of that."

 

Martha felt herself smiling back.  "He's been giving you trouble."

 

Lex snorted. "You can't possibly convince me you're surprised."

 

"We'll try convincing him together, then."

 

Lex's smile deepened. "He won't know what hit him."

 

"Oh, I guarantee it," Martha said archly, mentally unsheathing her claws.  She had twenty-five years of dealing with Kent men, and she had never failed a mission.  Resistance was futile.

 

Lex studied her for a moment, but before Martha could ask him what he was thinking, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

 

***

 

"A piece of the ship."

 

Jonathan repeated the words as if he hadn't the faintest idea what they meant.  He looked like someone had hit him too hard; Lex suspected that that someone was him. "Yes.  I've confirmed his purchase of Baker's Field.  Both he and Dr. Hamilton were seen there, supervising the excavation."

 

Jonathan stared back at him, wordless.

 

Lex glanced at Martha in confusion, only to see her bone-white and wide-eyed.  "He knows everything, then," she said in a whisper.  "They both know."  Jonathan nodded curtly.

 

"Everything?" Lex asked, startled.  Something was off, wrong; this wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting.  This was worse.

 

"Mom, it'll be okay."  Clark took her hand and leaned toward her with an anxious expression.  "Lex and I can take care of this.  We've got a plan."

 

Martha took a breath and locked her eyes on Lex.  "'We'?" 

 

Lex flinched inwardly.

 

"You're not taking care of anything, young man."  Jonathan's voice recovered its edge, but his face was ashen.  "Just put that idea out of your head now."

 

Clark flushed angrily and opened his mouth; Lex promptly kicked his shin under the table.  Clark glared across the table at him and shut his mouth again.

 

"Clark's safety is the first priority," Lex said, returning the glare.  "I've contacted Eli.  One of his people will be here in the morning to act as Clark's bodyguard."

 

"Bodyguard."  Martha echoed the word faintly, still clutching Clark's hand.

 

"Eli says she's excellent."  Lex's attempt at reassurance fell flat; the look on Martha's face made his stomach turn.  Somehow he doubted that she still thought he was good for Clark.

 

"At what?" Jonathan snapped. "Killing people?"  Martha released Clark's hand and rose from her chair, collecting the empty dessert dishes with mechanical precision, while Lex clutched his coffee cup in an effort to keep his fists away from Jonathan's face.  Clark glowered at his father, and Jonathan swallowed hard.  "Martha.  I didn't—"

 

"Who is this person?" Martha asked Lex over her shoulder, turning away toward the sink as if Jonathan hadn't spoken.

 

"Her name is Mercy Graves.  She's been working with Eli for three years now.  He's very impressed with her -- as impressed as Eli ever is with anyone, that is."

 

"I won't allow my son to associate with criminals."  Jonathan's voice was harsh and his eyes hard.

 

"I don't remember saying that Ms. Graves was a criminal."

 

"She's working with Eli Cohen."

 

Lex saw his knuckles going white and relaxed his grip on his cup. "I don't remember saying that Eli was a criminal, either." 

 

"We know what he does for a living, Lex!"

 

"I don't think you do.  He's a security consultant on my father's personal staff."

 

"Now there's a character reference for you."

 

The dishes Martha had been carrying crashed unceremoniously into the sink. Lex heard one of them shatter, heard the shards fly against the steel before settling to the bottom.  Clark looked scared for the first time, and Lex wasn't sorry to see it.  "Mrs. Kent?"

 

"Jonathan." Martha didn't turn around.  "Be quiet.  Be quiet and let Lex tell us what's going on."

 

"Mom, it's going to be—"

 

"Clark, I want you to be quiet, too."  Martha turned around, bracing herself against the counter.  "Lex."

 

Lex drew a deep breath. "What's going on is that Karloff seems to have evidence to suggest that Clark arrived withthe meteorites he's been so enthusiastically collecting.  If he knows—"

 

"He knows exactly what Clark is," Jonathan snarled.  "He knows everything.  Your father knows everything.  It's over."

 

The desperate vehemence of the man's tone riveted Lex's startled attention. "Why are you assuming—"

 

"It's not a goddamned assumption!"

 

"Jonathan, lower your voice."  Martha's face was set like steel.

 

"Dad, Karloff doesn't know anything," Clark said impatiently.  "He's guessing.  He only told Lex about Baker's field because he was pissed that we stopped him last night."

 

"_We _stopped him?"  Jonathan's gaze raked over his son.  "What do you mean, _we?_"

 

Lex promptly kicked Clark again, but this time Clark lifted his chin in a revoltingly familiar Kent posture of defiance, and Lex wearily prepared himself for the worst.  He wasn't disappointed.  "I helped Lex stop Karloff last night.  I helped him and I'm glad."

 

The ensuing silence lasted so long that Lex could hear the wind rattling the windows upstairs, could hear Martha's weary little sigh.  Timing.  He had to teach this kid about _timing_.

 

"Helped him."  Jonathan leaned over the kitchen table, breathing too hard.  "How?"

 

"I asked him to deliver something to the mansion," Lex said, before Clark could answer.

 

"The mansion," Jonathan rasped, white to the gills.  "You sent my son—"

 

"Dad, he didn't—"

 

"You sent my son to that maniac's house!"  Jonathan's voice rose to a shout.

 

Lex met the man's eyes with difficulty.  "Yes, sir, I did." 

 

Clark was standing at his father's elbow, shouting, before Lex saw him move. "It's not Lex's fault!  I made him—"

 

"You gave me your word."  Lex watched the man's hands flex and resignedly wondered how long it would be before they were wrapped around his throat. "Your word you wouldn't get Clark involved."

 

"I broke it," Lex said flatly.

 

"You bastard," Jonathan said thickly.  "You sorry son of a—"

 

"Jonathan."  Martha strode to the table.  "Enough."

 

"I ought to blow your damn head off!"  Jonathan lurched out of his chair with violence enough to knock it over, his eyes too bright and his face contorted and flushed.  "This whole family would be better off!  Better still, I should have left you—"

 

_"Jonathan Kent!"_

 

Lex stayed in his seat, ignoring his rather insistent flight response, but Clark was as far from embracing restraint as it was possible for Lex to imagine; he actually took Jonathan by the arm and jerked him away from Lex. "Don't talk to him like that!  This isn't Lex's fault, and you'd know that if you—"

 

Jonathan pulled his arm from Clark's grasp. "Don't raise your voice to me!"

 

Lex reached out to lay a restraining hand on Clark's arm. "Clark, sit down," he said quietly.

 

Jonathan pulled away from Clark and leaned down to shout into Lex's face. "You've done nothing but endanger everyone around you from the moment—"

 

_"That's enough!"_  Martha's voice silenced them all, and Lex turned to see her sinking into her chair with tears in her eyes.  "Jonathan, go.  Go outside and cool off, before you say anything else that you'll hate yourself for tomorrow."

 

Jonathan wrenched his wild gaze from Lex to stare at his wife for a second, then swung away from the table to yank open the kitchen door and shoulder through the storm door.  The door banged shut after him as he disappeared into the dark.

 

***

 

"We thought we'd lost you a few times.  You kept drifting away."  Martha took another sip of her tea, and Clark could see her hands were shaking.  "You didn't respond to your father at all.  The only time you seemed aware of anything was when Clark touched you."

 

Lex raised his gaze from the table to look at Clark, eyes dark, and said nothing.

 

"At the hospital, Lionel told Jonathan that he was grateful, and that if there were anything he could do—"

 

"Jesus Christ," Lex muttered.

 

"You asked him for something?" Clark demanded, appalled.  "What could you possibly—"

 

"Your father asked him to arrange your adoption."  Martha raised her eyes to Clark's face.  "And he agreed."

 

Clark sank against the back of his chair.  "My adoption."  He wished he hadn't eaten so much.  He felt sick.  He hoped he wouldn't puke on the table.  Mom had used the company tablecloth.

 

Lex rested his head in his hands.

 

"My adoption isn't legal."  Clark knew he sounded stupid.  He'd known there had been something funny about his adoption for months now.  But this…he hadn't expected this.  There was no way he could have expected this.

 

Martha brushed a tear away.  "When Lionel brought the papers—"

 

"What did he want?" Lex cut in harshly, not raising his head. 

 

Martha hesitated, then forged ahead.  "He wanted Jonathan to persuade some of our neighbors and friends to do business with him."

 

Lex uttered an acid laugh.  "Of course."

 

"Dad said 'no,'" Clark said desperately.  "Dad would never—"

 

"Yes, Clark."  Lex lifted his head to stare at him, eyes strangely bright and mouth grim.  "Your father said 'no'.  And then _my_ father said, 'Do this or I will expose this illegal adoption and take your son from you.'  Your father then said 'yes.'  Do you understand?"

 

"Your father had no choice," Martha said.  Clark could barely hear her.

 

Clark closed his eyes and put his head on the table, breathing through his mouth.  They said that if you breathed through your mouth you wouldn't puke.  "It's my fault," he said faintly.  "God, it's all my fault.  He did it for me."

 

"Goddamn it, Clark!"  Lex exploded out of his chair and stood where he was, breathing hard.

 

"He did it for _us_."  Clark felt his mother's hand take his.  "This isn't your fault."

 

"Your mother is right."  Lex's voice was harsh. "We know whose fault it is, and if your father doesn't, then he damn well should, his entirely justifiable desire to blow my head off notwithstanding."

 

"Jonathan wasn't talking about you, Lex."  Martha's voice was a whisper.  "Not you."

 

Clark raised his head to blearily watch his mother to Lex stare at each other for a minute.

 

Lex blew out a gust of air.  "I'll be a while."  Swinging away from the table, he snatched Jonathan's jacket from its peg and strode toward the living room.

 

"Lex," Martha said unevenly.

 

Lex shot her a crooked grin over his shoulder.  "Don't worry, Mrs. Kent.  Luthors know how to duck." 

 

Clark got it, then, and staggered up out of his chair to follow him, but Martha took him by the arm.  "Stay right where you are, young man."

 

"Lex shouldn't talk to Dad when he's like this," Clark protested.  He heard the front hall closet open and wondered what the hell Lex was doing.  "Let me go find him."

 

"Lex will talk to your father."  Martha's voice was like steel, and Clark turned to stare at her.  She was all mom-is-fierce now, and his nausea reasserted itself with a vengeance. "And you will talk to _me_."

 

"Oh," Clark said faintly, easing himself back into his chair. And here he'd actually thought things couldn't get any worse.

 

***

 

Jonathan gripped the baling wire with bare hands and tossed the bale from the loft onto the barn floor below, knowing that if he kept doing that his hands would be sliced open, and not caring.  He didn't feel it much.  Not much.  They would start to bleed soon, but after all, there were some things you couldn't avoid.  Some things followed you every step you took for the rest of your life, no matter how straight and narrow your path was.  Some things hunted you down and demanded blood.  Martha was right.  He would hate himself tomorrow.  For what he'd said to Lex.  For what he'd said to her.  Hell, he wasn't sure he didn't hate himself now.

 

"Mr. Kent."

 

Gasping, Jonathan whirled toward the quiet voice, then blew out an annoyed breath of relief to see Lex standing there, Jonathan's jacket in one hand and his shotgun in the other.  God, where had the boy learned to move so quietly?  "What the hell are you doing out here?"

 

Lex lifted an eyebrow and offered the jacket.

 

Jonathan sighed and took it, shoving his arms into the sleeves.  "You shouldn't have left the house.  What's the gun for?"

 

Lex's other eyebrow rose.

 

"Oh, for God's sake!" Jonathan felt the heat rise to his face.  "You know damn well I didn't mean that."

 

"Just thought I'd offer you the opportunity."  Lex swung the weapon up to rest on his shoulder with a provokingly impertinent expression.  "It's a sweet setup – no witnesses, point-blank range—"

 

"Don't tempt me."  Jonathan turned away and seized another bale, flinching as the wire cut into his hands.  "Now get back in the house before somebody with nothing better to do takes you up on your offer."

 

"Your gloves are in your pocket," Lex said in a strange, sharp voice.

 

"Damn it, Lex, go back inside!"  Jonathan sent the bale over the edge of the loft to drop to the barn floor below and grabbed another.  He felt something warm and wet run across his palm, but before he could look, Lex seized his wrist.  Jonathan heard the shotgun hit the loft floor with a rattle.

 

"Drop it," Lex rasped in his ear.  "Drop the damn thing."  Jonathan released the baling wire, ignoring the dull thud of the bale against the loft floor, and let Lex examine his hand.  Cursing under his breath, Lex dug in Jonathan's pocket and pulled out a glove, then shoved it into Jonathan's palm to staunch the blood.  "You can't do this now.  You can't let that bastard win."

 

Jonathan stared at the red stain seeping through the cotton work glove for a moment.  "He's already won," he heard himself saying.  "He knows everything now.  He'll have someone take Clark away—"

 

"No one's taking Clark anywhere."  Lex's voice was a feral snarl. "Not while I'm still breathing.  Listen to me.  Nothing I've seen in the past four months has given me any indication whatsoever that my father and his lab ratare working together on this or anything else."

 

"What—"

 

"Karloff is _playing _him – and it's a given that my father is playing Karloff.  Do you understand?  I don't for one moment believe that my father knows what Karloff found in Baker's field, or that Karloff knows about Clark's adoption, and that you were hauling both Clark and an unspecified large, heavy object in that vicinity."

 

Jonathan sank to sit on the discarded hay bale, staring at his sliced hands.  "She told you."

 

Lex sighed.  "Of course she did."

 

Jonathan dropped his glove and buried his head in his hands.  "She told Clark."

 

"Yes."  Lex's voice gentled. 

 

Jesus Christ.

 

"Mr. Kent, you should have told me about this."

 

Jonathan's head snapped up; he felt relieved by a jolt of indignant anger.  "I should have told _you?_"

 

Lex folded his arms over his chest, his lips thinning in obvious impatience.  "This has a direct bearing—"

 

"When I hadn't even told my own _son?_"

 

"You should have told him," Lex said.  "You should have told him years ago."

 

Jonathan surged to his feet, fighting the urge to take a swing at that arrogant face. "Told him that his father is Lionel Luthor's…whore?  Well, maybe that's not a big deal where you come from—" Jonathan paused; Lex had started to laugh.  "You think this is _funny_?"

 

"God, yes." Lex leaned against the nearest support beam with irritating grace and a sardonic smile. "The word 'whore' coming out of your mouth is immensely amusing."

 

"You knew about this all along," Jonathan snarled.

 

"Don't be absurd.  My father never explained how I got to the hospital.  He allowed me to assume that he'd saved me."  Lex's smile faded.  "You should have told me, Mr. Kent.  I have a right to know to whom I owe my life."

 

"I don't give a damn what you have a right to."  Jonathan swung away blindly, trying not to imagine the look on Clark's face when he'd found out the truth – that his father was a hypocrite, a liar, and Lionel Luthor’s accessory before the fact in every crime perpetrated against the people of their town.  God only knew what had possessed Martha.  No boy should have to be ashamed of his father.

 

Jonathan froze as Lex’s hand touched his arm.

 

"Mr. Kent."  It didn't sound like Lex.  Jonathan had never heard that voice before.  "You're nobody's whore.  He played you.  He plays everyone."

 

"Played?"  Jonathan turned to stare into the boy's face, and something there stirred a glimmer of understanding.  He wondered how many times Lex had been played.  He wondered if Lex was ashamed of his father.  He wondered why the hell he'd never wondered that before.

 

"It wasn't only about securing a business opportunity in Smallville.  It was about calling you to heel."

 

"Heel," Jonathan repeated blankly.

 

Lex shoved his hands into the pockets of the old jacket of Clark's he was wearing, looking strangely younger than he was. "You humiliated him, Mr. Kent."

 

"Humiliated?"  Jonathan sank back onto his hay bale, feeling like he'd taken one too many hits to the head.  It was a sensation that had become much too familiar since Lex Luthor had come into his life.  "_Humiliated?_  He asked for help and I—"

 

"You saw the great Lionel Luthor helpless."  Lex sat down beside him, his dark eyes searching Jonathan's face.  "Panicked.  Begging for help.  You had to be brought down, Mr. Kent.  You had to be taught your place."

 

Jonathan scowled at him.  "My place."

 

"Yes."  Lex laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound.  "And don't think for a moment that he didn't understand what it would do to you.  He did.  He understood that for the rest of your life, you'd regret that act of compassion.  That every time you looked at your son, you'd remember how you were forced to betray your principles."

 

"I wasn't forced." Jonathan was shocked.  A boy shouldn't understand something like this.  How many times had Lex been taught his place?  "I chose to betray them.  I chose to betray my friends.  My neighbors.  The town where I grew up."

 

"You had no way of knowing what was going to happen."

 

"I chose to put the future of this town in the hands of—"

 

"No." Lex's voice was sharp. "You didn't.  You chose to save Clark."

 

"Save him."  Jonathan nearly laughed in surprise.  "Save him from what?"

 

"From your nightmares.  And mine."

 

"Nightmares?"  Jonathan wasn't sure he wanted to know.

 

"I've seen him broken so many times."  Lex looked away; his voice fell to a whisper.  "It could so easily have happened.  Raised in a lab somewhere, being trained like an animal for whoever owned him.  Turning into God knows what.  He wouldn't have been our Clark, Mr. Kent.  I doubt he'd have been human at all by the time they were done with him."

 

Jonathan closed his eyes.  He knew this nightmare.  He knew it too well.

 

"You saved him from that.  You gave him the best life any kid could want.  You and Mrs. Kent raised a good man."

 

Jonathan let loose the breath he'd been holding and opened his eyes.  "That wasn't what it was about, Lex.  It was a purely selfish decision.  And I knew it."

 

Lex turned his head to regard him with a faint air of skepticism.  "And you did it anyway?" 

 

"I saw him in Martha's arms."  Jonathan swallowed as the image rose before his mind's eye.  "I saw the look on her face.  On his.  He was…he was my boy before I knew what was happening."

 

A corner of Lex's mouth curved upward.  "He does have that effect on people."

 

"I couldn't leave him."

 

"And as someone once observed to me, that isn't selfishness.  It's love."

 

Jonathan shot him a sharp look, but Lex met his eyes without flinching.  "A whole town full of people have paid for that love, Lex.  Bankrupt families.  Toxic waste.  Cancer rates well above—"

 

"Mr. Kent, I want you to listen to me.  What you've done for Clark has nothing to do with the harm LuthorCorp has done to this town.  Nothing.  If my father hadn't found you, then he would have found someone else to bribe, cajole or intimidate.  The only person responsible for what's happened here is Lionel Luthor."

 

Jonathan looked away and said nothing for a moment, turning the preposterous idea over in his mind.  "No.  Not the only person."

 

Lex muttered something under his breath as he launched himself to his feet.  "That's it.  A cure must be found for the absurdly overdeveloped Kent sense of responsibility.  I henceforth devote my life to science."

 

"I don't expect you to understand," Jonathan grated.

 

Lex let loose a bitter laugh as he paced the length of the loft.  "Oh, I understand all too well.  Clark thinks your entanglement with my father is _his_ fault."

 

Jonathan felt his stomach flip over.  "That's… ridiculous."  And very Clark.  He should have known.

 

Lex snorted.  "Of course it is.  He's a Kent."

 

"Damn it, Lex—"

 

"The meteor shower is his fault, too, you know, and the mutations, and Karloff's little game with the Sullivans.  It'll be boybands and the destruction of the ozone layer next."

 

Jonathan made an effort to pull himself together.  "I'll have a talk with him."

 

Lex glared at him.  "And tell him what?  That it isn't his fault?  That it's yours?  Oh, brilliant.  I'll be running along, now.  My work here is done."

 

"I can make—"

 

"Can it possibly have escaped your notice that your son worships the ground you walk on?"  Lex's tone was pure exasperation.

 

"Not anymore," Jonathan whispered, unable for the life of him to suppress the words.

 

Lex's expression went strangely grave; his voice dropped.  "Mr. Kent.  Your son believes in you without reservation.  He has good reason to."

 

Jonathan felt the heat rise to his face, and he struggled for an answer.

 

"I've always envied him for that."  Lex's voice went rough.  "I know I'm the last person you want to hear this from—"

 

"Lex."  Jonathan pulled himself to his feet, feeling like ten kinds of asshole.  "What you said about...regretting.  I don't regret helping _you _that day.  Do you understand?"

 

Lex was suddenly looking everywhere else.  "Tell Clark the truth.  Tell him none of this is his fault, or yours."

 

"Lex, I mean it."

 

"Put the blame where it belongs and move on.  You've let my father injure you enough for one lifetime."

 

Jonathan sighed and took Lex by the shoulders.  "I want you to believe me."

 

Lex was silent for a moment.  "I'm a reminder, too," he said finally, lifting his eyes to Jonathan, his face pale and his voice strained.  "Every time you look at me—"

 

"No.  Not anymore.  Not for a long time now."  Jonathan tightened his grip, wondering how the hell he'd let Lionel Luthor play him twice. 

 

Lex took a deep breath.  "If you hadn't helped me that day, if you had just driven past my father and not stopped—"

 

"I couldn't do that."

 

"—none of this would have happened.  You would have found another way to adopt Clark.  You could have lived your lives in peace and never laid eyes on a Luthor, never blamed yourself for any of harm we've done to Smallville."

 

"Lex, for God's sake."

 

Lex lifted his chin, all set jaw, white face and Luthor bravado.  "Isn't that what you think when you look at me?  It's what I would think."

 

Jonathan shook him slightly.  "I may have thought that way once.  I don't now.  Don't turn this around on yourself, Lex.  If what your father did isn't my fault, then it sure as hell isn't yours, and I'm glad we laid eyes on you."

 

Lex's face went blank.  "You're glad."

 

Jonathan cleared his throat.  "You've been a good friend to my family.  To Clark."

 

Lex's sharp eyes examined Jonathan's face for a moment; he seemed to brace himself. "There's something you should know."

 

Jonathan saw the wary look in Lex's eyes and grimaced.  Yes, this was just what he needed tonight – being told something he didn't want to know and would have to be a moron not to have figured out for himself.  A blind, deaf moron.  With no nose.  Well, God knew he'd seen it coming.  "Does this _something_ have anything to do with the fact that you two are wearing each other's shirts?"

 

Lex flushed as he glanced down at himself.  "Ah...yes."

 

Jonathan folded his arms across his chest and glared, congratulating himself.  And Clark thought he wasn't cool.  "Then I don't want to hear it.  Get back up to the house and send Clark out here."

 

Lex's face went grim.  "I'm responsible, Mr. Kent."

 

"You're damn right you are."

 

Lex pressed on, ignoring him.  "Do you remember what you told me about kindness and respect?"

 

Jonathan let out a gust of air, wondering if any parent were ever prepared for this.  Hell, he'd seen it coming for months and he wasn't prepared, despite his undeniable cool. "Yes.  I remember."

 

Lex was like steel now. "So do I.  I always will."

 

Damn the boy.  The problem was that Jonathan believed him, believed him without question, and when the hell had that started happening?  "I want him to have—"

 

"A normal life?" 

 

Damn him.  "Yes."

 

"So do I.  But that's not going to happen.  No matter how hard we try to give him the life he deserves.  Even if I'd sent him away, 'normal' is the last thing his life could ever be."

 

That was true, too.  "I want him to have as much of it as he can."

 

"He will."

 

"He won't if he's in jail."

 

"Mr. Kent, I didn't want Clark involved—"

 

"Then why the hell was he at the mansion last night?"

 

"Because he's his father's son," Lex said acidly.  "You can't imagine that I _wanted _him there."

 

"You didn't send him?"

 

"Oh, I sent him.  It was that or watch him go to Karloff alone."

 

Jonathan drew a sharp breath.  "What?  Why?  What the hell was he going to do?"

 

Lex hesitated.  "Whatever it took to help Chloe," he said finally.  "And believe me, Mr. Kent, that falls within the realm of my nightmares as well."

 

Jonathan stared at him for a second, subliminally aware that his chest was tighter than it should be.  "Jesus Christ, Lex, has the boy lost his mind?"

 

"He's a Kent," Lex growled.  "The question is moot."

 

"I don't want him within ten miles of that bastard!"

 

"I'm not the one you need to convince!  Go talk to the lunatic getting the third degree from his mother."

 

Jonathan glared at him.  "I won't have him involved with…with whatever it is you're doing, Lex.  No matter how good your intentions are."

 

"He's already involved.  And you know perfectly well what I'm doing.  I'm an arsonist, and an extortionist, and a thief, and there's not a minute of the day that I don't consider becoming a murderer."  Lex's voice was harsh and his eyes were wild.  "And your son loves me."

 

Jonathan tried to speak and found his mouth hanging open.

 

"He loves me.  He wants to help me, and if I don't _let_ him help me he'll try something on his own – something brave and stupid that will get him killed or worse.  Something that will make him pay for that love.  Do you understand?"  Lex's face worked and his voice cracked; he turned away to pace the loft again.

 

"Jesus," Jonathan muttered, dropping back onto his hay bale.  "Jesus Christ, what a mess."

 

"Your grasp of the situation boggles my mind."

 

"What the hell are we going to do?"

 

Lex shot him a startled look over his shoulder.  "Is that a rhetorical question, or do you really want my opinion?"

 

Jonathan glared back.  "Of course I really want your goddamned opinion!"  Lex raised an eyebrow.  Jonathan sighed and gave up.  "I don't exactly have a brilliant track record when it comes to handling Lionel Luthor."

 

Lex's expression went wry.  "And I do?"

 

"You understand how his mind works."

 

"I wish to God I didn't."  Lex flopped down beside Jonathan without his usual grace.

 

"Are we going to make it through this?" Jonathan asked quietly.  "Because I don't see any way out."

 

"Neither do I, yet."  Lex's tone was subdued.

 

They sat in silence for a few seconds.

 

"Thanks for coming out here," Jonathan said finally.

 

"No problem."

 

"Lex, if worst comes to worst—"

 

"Eli can take him to stay with my cousin in the Loire."

 

Jonathan laid a hand on Lex's arm, the stranglehold around his lungs loosening a little.  "Thank you."

 

"Provided, of course, that he can be persuaded to leave."  Lex gave him a crooked smile.

 

Jonathan grimaced.  "He's a chip off the old block, all right."

 

"You have no idea."

 

"Son, I have more idea than you can possibly imagine."

 

Lex smiled and shrugged.  "Let Mrs. Kent sort him out."

 

"My secret weapon," Jonathan said dryly.

 

Lex's smile broadened to a grin.

 

***

 

Clark kept his head on the table and his eyes pinched shut.  Listening was bad enough; watching would have been too horrible to describe.  People had hell all wrong.  Hell wasn't fire and brimstone and guys running around with pitchforks.  Hell was hearing your mother say the word "condom."

 

"Unprotected sex can be _life-threatening_, young man.  For you _and _your partner.  Sexually transmitted disease is an epidemic that has destroyed millions of lives."

 

"Kill me," Clark mumbled to the company tablecloth.  "Kill me now."

 

"I'm sorry if this subject makes you uncomfortable."  Martha didn't sound sorry.  She didn't sound one bit sorry.  She sounded like she was sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner, and he was the turkey.  "If you had seen fit to tell me how serious things were becoming with Lex—"

 

"Mom, that's not the kind of thing—"

 

"—then you could have had this talk with your father.  But since you decided to keep me in the dark about something so important until after you and Lex had taken this step, you are stuck talking to _me.  _Now, do you have condoms?"

 

"Mom," Clark groaned, raising his head. "Will you please stop saying that?"

 

Martha looked at him calmly, like they were talking about pie or geometry or having enough clean underwear for the week.  "Your father and I don't use them, so you'll have to go to the pharmacy and buy some.  Would you like me to come with you?"

 

Clark stared at her in mute horror.  The image of his mother standing with him at the Trojan display in Lockshin's Pharmacy, recommending "for her pleasure," simply crippled his capacity for rational thought.

 

Martha raised her eyebrows.  "Cat got your tongue, young man?"

 

Clark swallowed hard.  God, she was scary.  She'd do it, too.  She'd do it on a Saturday afternoon, when a whole bunch of his friends were in there.  He'd never be able to show his face in Smallville again.  "I don't need condoms," Clark squeaked.

 

"Clark, if you're not going to handle this responsibly—"

 

"I'm not being irresponsible!  I don't need condoms!  Lex isn't sick, I can't _get _sick, and neither one of us is going to get pregnant!"

 

"Are you sure?" Martha asked calmly.

 

"Mom!  For God's sake!"

 

"There's a lot we don't know about your anatomy, Clark."

 

Clark's mouth fell open.

 

"For all we know, it's the men who give birth where you come from."

 

Clark's eyes narrowed; he had detected a glimmer of unholy amusement in his mother's eyes, and the suspicion that his cage was being rattled began to take shape.  "You know perfectly well that Lex isn't going to get me pregnant!"

 

Martha folded her arms across her chest, obviously unwilling either to concede the point or to end her fun.  "We'll discuss this issue later, with your father."

 

"Mom—"

 

"At length."

 

"Aw, God."

 

"Right now we need to address the issue of you disappearing for days at a time."

 

"It wasn't days! And I left a note."

 

Martha leveled her most lethal gaze in his direction, and Clark cringed.  "I don't think that's what you meant to say, Clark.  I think you meant to say that you made a _mistake_, you're sorry, and you won't do it again."

 

Clark stared at the tablecloth.  "I can't say that."  The silence that followed made Clark start to squirm in his chair.  He took a deep breath.  "I'm in love with him, Mom."

 

"I know."  Martha's voice went suddenly soft.

 

"I want to spend time with him."

 

"And I want you to spend time with him."

 

Clark looked up in astonishment to find Martha watching his face, watching his every move, like she was memorizing it.  "You do?"

 

"I just don't want you to sacrifice the rest of your life to do it."  Martha met his eyes.  "Neither does Lex."

 

Clark slid down in his chair, dismayed.  Geez oh man, they were in on it together.  "You talked to Lex about this?"

 

"Of course I did."

 

Clark's stomach went into freefall.  "You didn't…you didn't talk to him about _condoms_, did you?"

 

Martha's expression was far from reassuring.  "Our conversation was private, Clark."

 

"Oh, God," Clark said faintly.

 

Martha continued in a determined tone.  "You're six…seventeen. That's too young to start closing off parts of your life.  Your father and I want you to have a—"

 

"Normal life." Clark couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

 

Martha regarded him silently for a moment.  "As normal as possible."

 

"Why?  What's the point?  I'm not normal, Mom.  I'll never be normal.  I get less normal every day."

 

"The point," Martha said firmly, "isn't to be normal.  The point is to have a full, happy life.  Friends and family who love you.  Pursuits that challenge you and bring you joy.  Those are the things that make life worth living, Clark.  The things that keep us balanced and strong and knowing who we are." 

 

Clark shot her an uncertain look.  "And what we are?"

 

Martha nodded. "And what we are.  That's not something anyone can afford to lose, Clark.  Especially not someone with your gifts."  She hesitated.  "Especially not someone who is close to Lex."

 

Clark bristled.  "What does that mean?"

 

"You know what it means."

 

"Mom, he's not—"

 

"I love Lex, Clark.  You know that.  But he has his demons, just like the rest of us, and he's in a terribly dark place right now."

 

"You don't under—"

 

"How did he persuade...that man to rehire Gabe Sullivan?"

 

Clark sighed.  "He threatened to take the records from his dad's cloning research to the press."

 

Martha frowned.  "And how did he get those records?"

 

"He hacked into the lab's servers."  Clark paused, then forged ahead.  "Before he burned the lab down."

 

Martha closed her eyes.  "Was anyone hurt?"

 

"No," Clark said hastily.  "No, Mom, he made _sure _no one was in there.  Lex would never—"

 

"He's walking so close to the edge, Clark.  One wrong step—"

 

"He doesn't want to make any wrong steps," Clark said desperately.  "And I won't let him make them, Mom."

 

Martha opened her eyes and met his gaze.  "Then you're going to have to be strong enough for both of you.  You're going to have to know who you are."

 

Clark fiddled with his water glass, unable to look her in the eye.  "You think I was wrong to help him last night."

 

"I don't know, Clark."  Clark looked up, surprised, and Martha took a deep breath.  "The Sullivans needed help, and that man can't be reasoned with.  I can't see another way, and if no one was hurt....  But arson, and blackmail.  I don't know.  I just don't know whether it was wrong or not, Clark.  But I'm concerned that he was able to persuade you to help him blackmail someone so easily."

 

"He didn't persuade me.  I persuaded _him_.  I told him I was going to the mansion to beat Karloff up."

 

Martha stared at him for a moment, all the color draining from her face.  Clark vaulted out of his chair to kneel beside her and wrap his arms around her, talking a mile a minute.  "Lex stopped me.  He wouldn't let me go.  He told me I couldn't cross that line.  And I won't, Mom, I promise."

 

"Lex stopped you," Martha echoed.  She let loose a breath, stroking his hair.  "I see."

 

"I have to help Lex now.  I have to help him get his life back, and I have to help him stop Karloff from hurting people."

 

"Clark, this man is dangerous."

 

"If he's dangerous to me, what is he to everybody else we care about?  Mom, please.  I have to do this.  I have to help.  It feels like—" Clark fumbled for words.  "—like it's the _reason_ I have these gifts in the first place.  A good reason.  I don't think I can make it if I don't have a good reason, Mom."

 

Martha smiled, but Clark could see the tears in her eyes.  "I don't think any of us can make it without a good reason."

 

***

 

"Clark is right," Jonathan sighed.  "You never stop thinking."

 

Lex cast him an exasperated look.  The man was being deliberately obtuse.  "It doesn't make any sense."

 

"Nothing about your father makes sense."

 

"If he had the truth about Clark's adoption to hold over your head, why would he go to the trouble of buying the Savings and Loan?"

 

"You're asking me?"

 

"Is it possible you don't understand the significance of this?"

 

"I don't understand a damn thing right now."  Jonathan rubbed his eyes.

 

Lex sighed, relenting.  "My father has a reason for everything he does.  If he didn't use the information about Clark's adoption, it's because there's an advantage in him in not doing so that made spending several million on a small-town savings and loan worthwhile."

 

"Maybe he just didn't want to lose his ace in the hole."  Jonathan's voice was bitter.

 

"No," Lex said impatiently.  "He didn't want to draw public attention to the adoption."

 

Jonathan scowled.  "Why would he care about that?  It's not like I have any proof he was involved."

 

"I know," Lex muttered.  "Something else is going on.  Something—" The faint sound of a finely-tuned engine caught his attention, of tires on gravel.  Frowning, he launched himself off the hay bale and peered through the slightly ajar barn door, freezing and strangled to see a silver Porsche pulling up in front of the house.  "Jesus Christ," he whispered, recognizing the car.  "Oh, Jesus Christ, _Clark_—" He shoved his weight against the door, but Jonathan caught him by the arm and yanked him back inside.

 

"Don't be a damn idiot," Jonathan hissed, shutting off the barn lights.

 

***

 

"You're home all night on school nights."

 

Clark glared.

 

Martha glared back.  "You can see Lex on the weekend, as long as your grades don't suffer and you get your chores done.  That's the deal.  Take it or leave it."

 

Clark sighed, knowing it could be worse.  And would be, if he kept pushing.  "I'll take it."

 

"And make up with Pete and Chloe."

 

"Lex ratted me out on that, too?" Clark demanded in disgust. 

 

"Lex didn't rat you out on anything," Martha returned sternly.  "I'm not blind, Clark.  You haven't spent any time with them in weeks.  You haven't even talked about them.  That's not how we treat good friends."

 

Clark felt his face going hot.  "I know," he muttered.  "I've just—"

 

"Been all wrapped up in Lex.  But they don't know what's happening, Clark.  Imagine how it looks to them.  How it makes them feel."

 

Clark squirmed in his chair; he was able to imagine it all too well.  "I know, I know.  I didn't mean to hurt them, Mom."

 

"The sooner you tell them so the better."  Martha slipped a hand under Clark's chin and lifted his face to her.  "None of us wants to lose you, Clark."  Her voice went a little unsteady.  "We love you."

 

"You're not going to lose me, Mom."  Clark wrapped his fingers around her hand, wondering just how much of a jerk he'd been lately.  God, Lex had understood his parents and friends better than he had, and that was pretty scary.  "I promise.  You'll never lose me, no matter what."

 

"I'm going to hold you to that."  

 

Martha was smiling now, but she was getting all teary again, and Clark couldn't take seeing that twice in one night, so he hugged her.  Martha held him tightly, like she really thought he was _going _somewhere, somewhere far away where she'd never see him again.  God, mothers were weird.  "You can hold me to it," Clark murmured.  "I'm not—" He broke off.  There was a car coming up the drive, a car with an engine that ran like silk, and Clark recognized it instantly.  "Aw, geez," he said wearily.

 

Martha leaned away from him with a startled expression.  "Clark?"

 

"Karloff's back."

 

Martha drew a quick breath.  "He did say last night that he was sorry he missed you.  He said he'd wanted to apologize for your misunderstanding."

 

"Yeah, I'll bet," Clark muttered, turning toward the front door.  "Stay here, Mom, I'll get rid of him."

 

Martha held onto his arm, eyes wide.  "Clark, be careful.  Remember, he's not...stable."

 

"He won't try anything with you and Dad around."  Clark shrugged into his jacket.  "I just hope Lex doesn't hear that car and come charging to my rescue or something."

 

"You let your father worry about Lex.  You concentrate on _him_.  If you feel that he's threatening you in any way—"

 

"I'll yell for my mother," Clark said with a grin.

 

Martha sighed and let him go.  "Be.  Careful."

 

Clark kissed her cheek and strode quickly out of the kitchen, through the living room and out onto the porch.  The silver Porsche was just pulling up in front of the house; Clark could see Luthor behind the wheel.  Crossing his arms over his chest, Clark leaned against the post and waited as the man turned off the engine and slipped gracefully from the car.  "What are you doing here?"

 

Luthor held up his hands in mock surrender.  "Can we agree to a truce for five minutes?"

 

"Why?  So you can evict another one of my friends?"

 

Luthor sighed as he approached the porch steps.  "Clark, I apologize.  You know how bad my temper is.  I lost my perspective."

 

"Your _perspective_?  You tried to put two innocent people in the street!"

 

"And I've made it right, haven't I?"

 

Clark opened his mouth to say "only because Lex made you" and caught himself just in time.

 

"I've apologized, haven't I?  What more do you want, Clark?"

 

God, he looked too much like Lex for a second there.  He was getting good at this.  "I don't want anything from you."

 

"Could we just sit down and talk about this?"  His voice was quiet now.

 

There it was again, that flash of Lex, and Clark felt himself folding.  "Fine.  Whatever."  He sat down on the top step, stiffening slightly when Luthor sat down beside him.

 

"I'm sorry about the Sullivans," Luthor said softly.  "I lost my temper when you blew me off yesterday, but I give you my word it won't happen again."

 

"And did you lose your temper all the other times you've evicted people?"

 

"I tried to explain that yesterday, but you wouldn't listen.  It was a business decision, Clark."

 

Clark knew his contempt was all over his face, and didn't care.  "That's a great business you've got going there."

 

"It isn't my business."  Luthor stared at his feet.  "It's my father's.  He hasn't let me make any substantive decisions since I was injured."

 

"You weren't injured," Clark snapped, unnerved by just how badly he wanted to believe this.  "That's your cover story, remember?  The one my family and I know is bullshit?"

 

"But that's what I remember," Luthor whispered.  "I don't know why.  Maybe Dad just repeated it so often that....  I don't know why.  There are a lot of things I don't understand."

 

Clark averted his eyes from the pain in that face.  This wasn't Lex.  This was some _thing _that had stolen Lex's life from him.  "What things?"  He couldn't help asking.

 

"Why some of the things I remember like they happened yesterday never happened at all.  Why some of the things I can't remember at all are things nobody could ever forget.  It's like somebody carved chunks out of me, Clark.  Sometimes I don't know what's real from one minute to the next.  I don't know who I _am _from one minute to the next."

 

Clark swallowed hard.  "What does your...Mr. Luthor say about it?"

 

Luthor shrugged.  "Not much.  That there were problems early on.  That there's probably brain damage that accounts for the memory loss."

 

"He doesn't know what to do about it?"

 

"If he does, he's not sharing."  Luthor glanced up at him.  "And he can't explain you."

 

Clark met his eyes, startled.  "Explain me?"

 

"You're the only thing that stays."  Luthor's voice was strained.  "You're the only memory that has no missing parts.  The only memory that doesn't come and go, flare up and fade away.  You stay."

 

Clark found himself leaning away, speechless.

 

Luthor leaned closer, his deep blue eyes searching Clark's face.  "If I came on a little strong yesterday, that's why.  You're the only thing in my life that makes any kind of sense to me.  The only thing that gives me a clue who I am."

 

"I'm sorry," Clark said unevenly.  "About your memories.  But I can't—"

 

"I'm not the bastard you think I am.  For God's sake, don't condemn me for my father's actions, Clark.  You never made that mistake before.  Don't start now, when I need your friendship more than ever."

 

Clark tore his gaze from Luthor's face and stared at the silver Porsche sitting a few feet away.  He'd thought it was morbid of Luthor to buy a Porsche identical to the one Lex had nearly died in.  But maybe it wasn't morbid.  Maybe it was some way of connecting to the only parts of his life he could be sure ever existed.  Clark drew a quick breath.  "You really want me to believe you?  You really want my friendship?"

 

"You know I do."

 

Clark turned to him. "Then give Lex his life back."

 

Luthor's face went blank with surprise.  "Excuse me?"

 

"Give him his life back.  It's the right thing to do.  Make a life of your own.  I'll help you.  I'll bet Lex would help you, too."

 

Luthor stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter.  Any resemblance to Lex self-destructed in that second; that laughter was full of meanness and sharp edges.  "Yes, I'm sure he would!  Right over the nearest available cliff, I imagine."  Luthor controlled his mirth and looked at Clark affectionately.  "And just what sort of life did you have in mind for me, Clark?  Convenience store clerk?  Gas station attendant?  Field hand?"

 

"You could do anything you wanted to," Clark said, determined.

 

Luthor shook his head, still smiling.  "Not quite anything.  I couldn't be Lex Luthor.  And strangely enough, the lifestyle of a Luthor appeals to me.  Not that I don't appreciate the charm of your naïveté, Clark.  It's one of the many facets of your personality that attracts me, I suppose."

 

"So what is Lex supposed to do?" Clark demanded angrily.  "You've stolen everything from him."

 

"Not everything," Luthor said lightly, resting his hand on Clark's thigh.

 

Clark shoved the hand away with more violence than he'd intended, startled.

 

Luthor's voice sharpened.  "He has his memories.  I'm sure he doesn't wake up in the morning not knowing who the hell his mother was.  Who the hell _he _is."

 

"Your memory problems aren't Lex's fault.  Or mine."

 

"To say nothing of certain access codes that would allow us to reach that particle accelerator of his – and shut it down safely.  I won't even go into all the LuthorCorp assets that he's appropriated in the past few months."

 

"I don't know what you're—"

 

"Of course you do.  You know all about it.  You probably even know where he is."

 

Clark leveled his gaze.  "He's out of the country.  That's all I know."

 

Luthor smiled faintly. "I've always admired your loyalty, Clark.  But I want you to carefully consider the possibility that it's misplaced."

 

"I think it's time for you to go."

 

"Please, Clark.  Don't do this.  He's a criminal – a thief and an arsonist and God knows what else.  He's a public menace.  He's a danger to everyone, including you."

 

"Did Mr. Luthor tell you that, too?"

 

Luthor leaned forward with an earnest expression.  "Don't waste your friendship on a pathetic loser who can't do anything for you.  We could do great things together, Clark."

 

"Like what?  Put some more families out of their homes?  Ruin some more lives for money?"

 

"Think of your future.  Of your family's future."

 

"I am thinking of it," Clark said sharply.  "And it'll be a better future without you, believe me."  God, he'd been stupid.  Stupid to count on that fleeting piece of Lex, drowning in Karloff's craziness.

 

Luthor stared at him for a moment, then turned away with the same pained expression Clark had noticed before.  "I'm sorry to hear that," he said in a strange, dull voice.  He slipped his hand inside his coat.  "Very sorry."  He pulled a small metal box from the breast pocket of his jacket.  "So what's your plan, Clark?  You betray your best friend?"

 

"You're not my best friend.  You're the guy who's making my best friend's life hell on earth."

 

"One can only hope.  So you intend to help him take me apart piece by piece?  Let him turn you into a criminal, too?"

 

"I never said anything about helping him."

 

Luthor flipped up the lid of the box and a wave of pain and nausea hit Clark hard; he doubled over, gasping.  "No, you didn't.  But I suspect you have been."

 

Clark tried to move away, but Luthor had him by the arm, his fingers digging into Clark's useless muscles.  "Let go of me."

 

"Not just yet.  And keep your voice down.  I wouldn't want to worry your parents.  They might come out here, and my temper might get the better of me again."  He sounded nothing like Lex now. 

 

Clark forced himself to watch as Luthor lifted a small, highly polished object from the box and held it up.  A ring.  A ring of meteorite stone.  "What...why...?"

 

"Pretty thing, isn't it?"  Luthor released Clark long enough to slip the ring onto the ring finger of his left hand.  "And practical.  A perfect marriage of beauty and function."  He stroked Clark's cheek, the ring gliding smooth and cold over Clark's skin.  Clark choked back a groan of pain.  "Listen to me, Clark.  You're young and inexperienced.  You've led a very sheltered life thus far, so I can understand how confused you must be by this situation."

 

"I'm...not confused," Clark grated between clenched teeth, leaning away until his back was pressed up against the porch post.

 

"I think you are."  Luthor slipped his hand down to stroke Clark's throat, leaning closer, his dark gaze riveted to Clark's face.  "Would the Clark Kent I know harbor a dangerous criminal?  Would he be his closest friend?  Would he help him to destroy who knows how many innocent lives?"

 

"Lex isn't dest—"

 

"He isn't Lex."  Luthor slid his other hand up the inside of Clark's thigh.  "_I _am.  _I'm_ your best friend.  I'm the man who really cares about you.  He doesn't give a damn about you, Clark.  If he did, he wouldn't put you in danger.  He wouldn't exploit you.  He wouldn't manipulate you into betraying your principles."  Luthor's hand rested at Clark's crotch.

 

"Take your damn hands off me," Clark hissed.

 

"That's what he's doing, isn't he?  Turning you into something you never wanted to be.  Something even your parents would come to despise."

 

Clark paused for a moment to control a violent surge of nausea. "Whereas you want me around...to shoot pool?"

 

Luthor chuckled.  "Touché."  He sobered instantly.  "I would never ask you to do anything you weren't comfortable with, Clark.  You know what my father is.  You wouldn't feel that denying him the power to inflict harm on innocent people is unethical, would you?  That's all I'm talking about."

 

"You're lying.  You know it wouldn't stop there."

 

"It will stop wherever you want it to stop.  With one notable exception."  Luthor leaned close enough touch his lips to Clark's, and Clark groaned and jerked away.  "Did he fuck you, Clark?  Tell me."

 

"Let go of me, you sick shit," Clark gasped.

 

"I'll take that as a no.  God, still cherry."  Luthor's hot breath threatened to choke Clark as he fought off the pain.  "I'll fuck you, Clark.  And you'll love it.  Or if you don't, you'll learn to.  You'll see things in a whole new light after a few nights with me." 

 

"There aren't going to be any nights," Clark choked in panic, trying to shove Luthor away with what remained of his strength.

 

"You'll come to your senses then.  You'll want to tell me everything about you, about him, and then we'll track him down together."  Luthor pushed Clark's leg to one side and, circling Clark's waist with one arm, yanked him close.  Clark swallowed down another groan as he felt Luthor's erection pressing against his leg.  "I won't kill him, Clark.  I promise.  We'll make him comfortable.  And then we'll make him watch.  You'll learn to like that, too."  Luthor tilted his head to run his tongue slowly down Clark's neck.

 

Clark shuddered against the touch, knowing that he wasn't going to remain conscious much longer.  He would black out, and Karloff would...Karloff would....

 

"We're getting in the car, now," Luthor murmured against his throat.  "Don't say anything.  What your parents don't know—"

 

A series of blinding flashes made Clark's vision go black; he heard Luthor shout "What the _fuck_—" and felt a brisk breeze as something large and scratchy passed his cheek at considerable velocity.  By the time his vision cleared, Luthor was sitting on his backside in the driveway, staring in obviously unfeigned astonishment at something behind Clark.

 

"His parents _do _know." 

 

Clark craned his neck to stare dazedly up at his mother, who clutched her broom as if it were a lethal weapon.  Maybe it was.  A camera hung around her neck, and Clark realized that that was where the flashes had come from.

 

"You get in that car and get off our land."  Martha's voice was shaking, but Clark knew it wasn't because she was afraid.  It was because she was seriously pissed, and if Karloff knew what was good for him he'd haul ass.

 

Luthor swallowed.  "Mrs. Kent.  I'm sorry.  I lost control, I didn't mean any—"

 

"I heard every word you said.  I know exactly what you meant.  You're going to leave now, and you're never going to set foot on our property again.  And if I hear that you've come within half a mile of my son—"

 

"What?" Luthor snarled, every trace of politeness evaporating.  "You'll hit me with your broom?"

 

"I'll hit you with these."  Martha raised the camera, her gaze so fierce that Clark half expected it to start boring holes in Karloff's skull.  "Or to be more precise, I'll let the Daily Planet hit you with them.  Imagine the headlines: 'LEX LUTHOR CAUGHT MOLESTING UNDERAGE BOY.'"

 

Luthor paled visibly.

 

"With that kind of public exposure, I imagine even the bought-and-paid-for authorities in Metropolis would be forced to launch a criminal investigation."

 

"Bitch." Luthor's face twisted with venom.

 

Martha's eyebrows rose.  "Oh, you have no idea, mister.  You just try touching my son again and I'll show you 'bitch.'  I'll make that life you stole pure hell. You're going to leave now.  You're going to go home, pack, and leave Smallville.  If you're not back in Metropolis tonight, I'm taking these to the Planet tomorrow."

 

Luthor's venom faded to uncertainty.  "You're bluffing.  You would never expose Clark to—"

 

"If she doesn't, I will," Clark breathed, propping himself up against the porch post.

 

"I wouldn't assume I was bluffing, if I were you," Martha said in a strange voice, as if Clark hadn't spoken.  "You'll find out you're wrong.  Miguel Jimenez did."

 

Luthor's eyes narrowed, and Clark flinched at the flat grimness of his mother's voice.  He tried to stand up and go to her.  He tried to move at all.  He couldn't.  He could practically feel that pretty little ring draining him dry.

 

As if she'd read his mind, Martha descended the steps with a fierce expression, hoisting her broom in front of her.  Clark remembered the time she'd chased a skunk out of the kitchen like that; the skunk had been too damn scared to spray, and had scurried out the back door without the bits of potato peel it had found so alluring only sixty seconds before.  "Go on!  Get out of here!"

 

Luthor scrambled hastily to his feet and backed away, abandoning a good portion of his dignity in the process.  "Mrs. Kent, I'm sor—"

 

Martha swung the broom with considerable energy, narrowly missing the end of Luthor's nose, and Luthor whirled toward his car, only to get a hard blow across his backside.  He bolted to his car as if he were running for his life, wrenched open the door and dove inside.  Slamming the door shut on his coat, he started the engine and roared off into the dark, for once in his short life driving like Lex Luthor.  

 

***

 

Jonathan pelted across the barnyard at full speed, resisting the urge to fire a couple parting shots at the rear window of that goddamned Porsche.  Damn that bastard to hell.  Lex had hinted at this.  He'd hinted, but he hadn't spelled it out, and Jonathan knew why:  he'd known that Jonathan would have gone over to that pile of pretentious rocks on Beresford Lane and strangled the son of a bitch.  Black Lagoon Boy had actually had the balls to put his filthy hands on Clark, and Jonathan had had to watch, because he'd been too busy wrestling Lex to the ground and sitting on him to do anything else.  If he hadn't seen Martha in the doorway, waiting for her chance with her skunk-chasing broom in her hot little hands, he'd have had to let Lex blow his cover and go clobber the son of a bitch himself.  But he'd seen Martha swing that broom before.  His lady had a hell of an arm.

 

Lex passed him halfway across the barnyard, which was annoying as hell.  So, he couldn't beat him as a sprinter – he'd still sure as hell laid the kid on his back for a good five minutes.  Not bad for an old guy.  He saw Lex stumble over the bottom step of the porch and nearly wind up in Clark's lap; Clark caught him and eased him onto his knees in front of him, smiling weakly. 

 

Martha, sitting beside Clark with her arm around his shoulders, laid her other hand on Lex's shoulder, talking quickly.

 

Jonathan came to a halt in front of them, breathing hard.  "Son," he panted, "under normal circumstances I would never encourage you to use your gifts this way, but why the hell didn't you just kick his balls off?"

 

"You took the words right out of my mouth," Lex snarled, taking Clark's hands in his own with a gentleness at odds with his tone.

 

"Luthor has a ring of meteorite stone." Martha's gaze slid from Lex to Jonathan.

 

"Jesus," Jonathan whispered.  No doubt now.  No doubt at all.

 

Lex swallowed convulsively; he pulled Clark close until they were nose to nose.  "Are you all right?"

 

"I'll be fine," Clark murmured, resting his forehead against Lex's.  "Just give me a minute."

 

"As long as you want."  Lex was barely audible.

 

Jonathan watched them for a second, startled.  Whatever he had expected to see when he finally saw them together, it hadn't been this.

 

"Breathe, Lex."  Clark chuckled, but his face was bone-white.  "I'm okay.  Just tired."  He slumped over to rest his forehead on Lex's shoulder, drawing his arms around Lex's waist.  Lex let out an uneven little breath and bent to rest his head on top of Clark's, wrapping one arm around Clark's shoulders as he ran his other hand soothingly over Clark's back.  They both closed their eyes.

 

Martha smiled at them and reached out to take Jonathan's hand as she rose.  "Come inside.  We need to talk."

 

Jonathan tore his eyes from the peace in Clark's face, nodding, and followed her into the house.  "What did he want?" he asked in an undertone, as Martha led him into the kitchen.  "I mean, apart from...."  He found himself unable to finish.

 

"Clark.  Clark as a weapon.  Clark as...I don't know what to call the other thing."  Martha sank into a chair at the kitchen table, and methodically took the camera strap from around her neck.  "I blackmailed him, Jonathan."

 

Jonathan sighed and sat down beside her, sliding the shotgun under the table, where Martha couldn't see it.  "The pictures?"

 

"I told him I'd give them to the Planet if he didn't leave Smallville."

 

Jonathan nodded, his gaze taking in her brave face and shaking hands.  Her beautiful eyes.  "I love you," he said softly.

 

Martha stared at him blankly.  "Did you hear what I just said?  I _blackmailed _him."

 

"Good," Jonathan said in as even a tone as he could manage.  "If that's what it takes to keep Clark and Lex safe, then that's what we'll do."

 

Martha lowered her gaze to the table, to the camera.  "This is...this is a line, Jonathan.  Once we cross it, we can't go back."

 

"This isn't a line."  Jonathan laid his hand on top of hers, watched her look up at him uncertainly.  "This is a war, Martha.  For survival.  Ours.  The boys'.  Smallville's.  This maniac is more dangerous than Lionel Luthor ever was, and he's targeting our family and our neighbors' families.  It's time to fight back."

 

Martha let out a deep breath.  "Like Lex has been fighting back?"

 

Jonathan grimaced.  "Not exactly."

 

"You know he burned down one of his father's labs."

 

"He told me."

 

"If someone had been inside, Jonathan—"

 

"I know.  So does he.  We shouldn't have left him alone all that time, Martha.  He needs us."

 

Martha nodded, a faint smile touching her mouth.  "Yes.  He does.  And Clark needs him."

 

Jonathan sighed.  "I know."

 

"We need to draw some new lines, Jonathan."

 

Jonathan nodded.  "We will."

 

"I only hope the boys will listen."

 

"Listening is not an option," Jonathan said firmly, and Martha's smile deepened.  Jonathan hesitated, then barreled ahead.  He knew a good time to throw himself on his wife's mercy when he saw one.  "Martha.  About what I said at dinner.  I'm sorry."

 

Martha's smile faded away.  "I know."

 

"I wasn't thinking."

 

"Were you thinking when you didn't tell me about Clark and Lex?"  Martha met his eyes squarely.

 

"Yeah," Jonathan said quietly.  "I was.  I was thinking you were broken to pieces after...after the night Lex left.  I was thinking you were dealing with nightmares and therapy and God knows what else and didn't need this on top of it.  And later on, I was thinking that maybe they'd both think better of the idea once they were apart, and that I wouldn't ever have to tell you."  He lifted Martha's hand to his lips.

 

"I need...I need to know that you trust me, Jonathan."  Martha drew a shaky little breath; her face was wet.  "I need to know that you still count on me."

 

"I count on you every day.  And I trust you more than I trust myself.  More than I've trusted anybody in my life."  Jonathan's voice threatened to give way, and he cleared his throat.  "For God's sake, Martha, you must know that."

 

"I need to be reminded sometimes."  Martha stroked his hair back, her smile slowly returning.  "Don't keep things from me, Jonathan."

 

"Okay."

 

"No matter how bad this – this war gets.  I won't shatter."

 

"I know."

 

"No more secrets."

 

"I promise."

 

"Because if you screw up again, I have the broom."

 

Jonathan saw the mischief in her eyes and grinned, leaning closer to her.  "Oh, I know you do.  And you look mighty good swinging it, too."

 

Martha went for a stern expression and for once failed miserably.  "Flattery gets you nowhere.  You just watch your step, mister.  Because—"

 

"I'd rather watch you."

 

"—it's the broom of doom."

 

Martha was laughing now, and Jonathan, being a very cool guy who always made the most of his opportunities, mentally flipped the bird at the dreaded couch, and caught his wife up and kissed her.

 

***

 

"He said I was the only memory that stayed with him.  That his other memories just came and went all the time."

 

Lex nodded, keeping his face carefully neutral, keeping at bay the image of Karloff yanking Clark into his arms.  He stroked Clark's hair gently and gave the porch swing another little push.  The motion was oddly soothing.

 

Clark looked up at him, his dark hair spilling out over Lex's lap, his fingers curling around Lex's other hand, his long legs dangling over the far end of the swing.  His face was taut with remembered pain and fear, and Lex had to fight the compulsion to haul him upstairs and comfort him in ways not entirely appropriate to their surroundings. 

 

"He said your dad wasn't doing anything about it," Clark continued in a subdued tone.  "And that all those evictions were your dad, not him.  He said…he said he needed my friendship now more than ever."

 

"And you felt sorry for him," Lex said tonelessly.

 

"I'm sorry.  I know it was stupid.  I know I should hate him for what he's doing to you.  And I guess I do.  It's just—"

 

"That piece of me."

 

"It blindsides me every time," Clark whispered.  "I guess…if I loved you less, I could hate him more."

 

Lex surprised himself with a chuckle.  "I'll pass."  He caressed Clark's cheek.  "Don't worry about it, Clark.  Not all of us have the same capacity for hate.  And that's probably just as well."

 

"He wants to know the access codes for the particle accelerator."

 

"I'm sure he does."

 

"And he wants the money you took from the LuthorCorp accounts back."

 

"Imagine my surprise."

 

"He laughed at me when I asked him to give you your life back."

Lex paused to consider the statement in light of the certain knowledge that Clark Kent was a lunatic.  "You asked him to give me my life back?"

 

"Well, he said he wanted my friendship. So I told him that was the only way he could have it.  But he laughed.  He said I was naïve."

 

"Did he really?"  Lex controlled himself with an effort.  "What an outrageous conclusion."

 

Clark's eyes narrowed.

 

Lex bent over him, grinning in spite of himself.  "So you appealed to old File-Save-As' conscience, did you?  The resulting silence must have been deafening.  I imagine one could have heard a cricket chirp, if you'll pardon the expression."

 

"I won't pardon it."  Clark glared up at him.  "It's an asshole expression, mastermind."

 

"The cricket act doesn't play in clonetown, Jiminy."

 

"Look, it was worth a try, okay?  If you—" Clark broke off and shot a pained glance at the front door, then sighed loudly.

 

Lex couldn't help laughing at the look on Clark's face.  "What?"

 

"They're _kissing_," Clark said, with the air of the long-suffering.

 

Lex leaned back and gave the porch swing another push, absurdly comforted.  "All's right with the world, then.  Feeling any better?"

 

"I'm fine.  Can I stay down here anyway?"

 

"Don't even think about moving."

 

Clark smiled. "Do you think he'll leave Smallville?"

 

"He's a damn fool if he doesn't."

 

"Really?"

 

"Those pictures could finish him."  Lex briefly wished he could expunge the pictures parading past his mind's eye.  His nightmares would be of a different sort tonight.  "Your mother is an amazing woman."

 

"You have no idea," Clark said rather sourly.

 

"She's bought us a significant amount of breathing space, to say nothing of precious time.  I do admire a woman who knows how to use a broom."

 

Silence.  "It's going to take a long time to beat him, isn't it?" Clark asked finally.

 

Lex snorted. "Define 'beat.'"

 

"Get your life back.  Make him leave you and me and my parents and Smallville alone."

 

Lex weaved his fingers through Clark's hair.  "Barring any conveniently situated natural disasters, runaway cement trucks, severed brake lines, unemployed hit men—"

 

"Yes," Clark said firmly.  "Barring those."

 

Lex sighed.  "You're stifling my creative flow, Clark."

 

"Lex."

 

"Yes."  Lex knew it, now; he was looking at a fight that would last years.  Years.  And God only knew how it would end.  "A long time, Clark."

 

The storm door opened slightly, and Lex turned his head to see Martha leaning out into the chilly air; Jonathan was standing behind her.  "It's getting late, boys," Martha said gently.  "Lex, why don't you stay the night?"

 

"On the couch," Jonathan added with considerable emphasis.

 

Clark glared at them from Lex's lap.  "Oh, for crying out—"

 

"It's a school night, Clark," Martha said, eyebrows raised.

 

"The couch is fine," Lex put in quickly.  "Thank you, Mrs. Kent.  We'll be right in."

 

Clark sighed as they disappeared.  "Like we'd do anything here."

 

"Speak for yourself," Lex murmured, giving him his best Metropolis leer and a nudge.  "Let's move, Jiminy."

 

Clark didn't move.

 

Lex bent to study his face.  "Clark?"

 

"You need to spend more time here," Clark said finally, turning to look at him.  "You shouldn't have stayed over there all alone for so long."

 

Lex avoided that penetrating gaze.  "There were things I had to do, Clark."

 

Clark's expression was grave.  "It's not good for you to be alone so much, Lex.  To spend all that time in the dark without all your people and the things that make you happy and keep you strong.  You can lose parts of yourself that way.  You can forget who you are."

 

Lex swallowed, knowing full well that he'd been alone in the dark for years before he'd wound up in that damned storm cellar.  "Thinking of Karloff?"

 

"No," Clark said quietly.  "Thinking of me."

 

Lex nodded.  They both fell silent; the soft creaking of the swing and the squeaking of the weathervane on the barn roof was all Lex could hear.  God, he'd missed this place.  He'd missed that damn weathervane, and the sweet, cold, clean wind, and the feeling that he was a hundred miles from anything that didn't enter a cow at one end or exit it at the other.  He'd missed the peace and strength here that even a Luthor couldn't defile.  "I've known you since I was nine," he said softly, astounded by how much that thought steadied the ground under his feet.

 

"Yeah," Clark murmured, smiling.

 

"I wish I could remember.  I wish I'd remembered while I was growing up."

 

"Me, too." Clark held his hand tightly.

 

"I should have known."

 

"Me, too."  Clark sat up and slipped his arm around Lex's shoulders, leaning close.

 

"Is this a normal life, Clark?"

 

"This?" Clark leaned in and kissed him, soft, warm and deep.  "Yeah."

 

"Boys?"  Martha's stern voice floated from the living room.

 

Clark rolled his eyes.  "Too normal."

 

Lex grinned broadly and shepherded Clark to the door.  "Come on.  I'll read you a bedtime story."

 


End file.
